


Next Time I See You

by Arvalier



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvalier/pseuds/Arvalier
Summary: A story of elves looking for their missing halves and the King of Rohan wanting to chew out the King of Gondor.This is a serious love story that should not be taken too seriously.
Relationships: Glorfindel/Legolas Greenleaf, Haldir of Lothlórien/Gildor Inglorion, Rog/Legolas of Gondolin, past Glorfindel/Legolas of Gondolin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 56
Collections: 2020 My Slashy Valentine





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laSamtyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laSamtyr/gifts).



> Request: Elves. Holiday silliness. Pets (cats, dogs, horses) helping create chaos. Ice hockey.
> 
> Beta: IgnobleBard (Many thanks! You're a true savior and a kind soul.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I love them, but they're not mine.

**~Edoras, Present Day~**

_Dear Éomer,_

_On your last visit to Gondor,_ _I was_ _remiss to inform you that we've all agreed to celebrate Winter Solstice in Rohan this year. Invitations have been sent out_ _,_ _so don't you worry about that. Rivendell, Lothlórien_ _,_ _and Mirkwood have all promised to come. The Fellowship_ _will_ _also be making their journeys_ _bound your way, so don't forget to stock up your pantries. We look forward to the festivities and spending time together to further cement the great friendship between our people. No doubt it will bring cheer to our kingdoms_ _,_ _still on the mend from the ravages of war._

_P.S._

_If you worry about what to do to entertain our elven guests for the Solstice Celebration, put your mind at ease. The elves will do all the entertaining for their own people and yours as well. You only need to provide them ample space to do whatever they want._

o~o~o~o~o~o

Éomer stared dumbly at the letter, penned in King Elessar's hand. His mind tried to shift away from reality, focusing on the chirping of the birds outside his window, the dappled shade of swaying leaves and how the sunshine and the wonderful weather could chase away the creeping sense of impending disaster.

It only worked for one delusory moment before he could feel the cramp of stress building in his lower gut.

Solstice day was less than a month hence.

The door to Éomer's office was almost ripped off its hinges by the king's panicked yell for Gamling.

o~o~o~o~o~o

Éomer had never felt this betrayed before in his life. Of course he wasn't involved in how the decision came to be made in the first place, which his logic concurred was a smart move because he would fight tooth and nail to stop it from being agreed to and executed by all parties involved. No, of course not. Aragorn had bided his time, waiting until it was too late for Éomer to do anything to avert his fate. Some great friendship indeed.

He just couldn't wait until he could get the King of Gondor within the reach of his arms. 

Preparations were hastily thrown together. The King of the Mark barely had time to calm his nerves before guests started pouring into his kingdom. First it was the the Galadhrim party from the Golden Wood, being their closest neighbor after Gondor. Mirkwood, now known as Eryn Lasgalen, followed suit. If the appearance of Lord Celeborn wasn’t a humbling enough surprise, for it had passed beyond the memory of Men the last time a mortal had lain eyes upon the Lord of Lothlórien, then beholding King Thranduil, of isolationist fame, in person was even more mind boggling.

And when Lord Elrond of Rivendell showed up in Edoras, bringing along not only his twin sons but also a retinue of important figures in his household including his chief advisor, Erestor, and Captain Glorfindel, Éomer began to suspect there was some kind of hidden agenda behind the convergence upon his home. Honestly, Rohan wasn't exactly famed for its refined lifestyle and sophisticated culture. For these three elven lords to leave the comforts of their own dwellings and travel all the way to the White Mountains was akin to a king of Men leaving his palace to stay at a common inn in Bree.

Éomer couldn't dispel the feeling that something was going on and someone forgot to send him the memo. After everything that Aragorn had dumped on him, he didn't appreciate being hit with more surprises, especially if they involved some kind of political play.

The king of Rohan was still caught in contemplation of how to approach the matter with diplomatic care and get the answers he wanted, when his attendant brought in a report of another arrival, this time a company of elves from the Grey Havens. Éomer put everything on hold to personally receive the guests, thinking it would be Círdan, the Shipwright himself, leading the entourage. He was wrong.

" _Mae govannen_ , your Highness. 'Tis an honor to be welcomed by the King himself. I am Gildor Inglorion of the Wandering Company. I have been tasked by Lord Círdan to extend his regrets for failing to accept your invitation. Not out of disrespect, I assure you, but rather due to an unforeseen accident that has incapacitated him. In his stead, I was charged with the responsibility of ensuring Mithlond's full participation in this merry, auspicious celebration, whatever it takes."

So maybe he had been wrong, Éomer thought. Maybe he was over thinking issues that didn't exist. Éomer welcomed the elf lord and his people and expressed his own regrets for what had befallen Círdan. Their exchange of greetings just flowed naturally into a long conversation of sundry topics, ranging from Rohan's state affairs to the steadily increasing congregation of Men and Elves, soon to be joined by Hobbits and possibly Dwarves too.

They were so immersed in their friendly chat they barely noticed that their feet had taken them to the front terrace, not heading inside the Great Hall but further outward. The shuffling noises of his attendants making ready to follow their king briefly caught Éomer's attention and he quickly gestured for them to stand down and leave them be. Gildor's companions also respectfully made their own retreat from the scene.

They descended the stone steps and Éomer led them to another area of a lower terrace fitted with more greenery. Built on the summit of the hill, the Golden Hall provided a vantage point of magnificent scenery, even in the encroaching winter when the vast green lands were gradually blanketed by the dusting of snow. At the foothill just beyond Edoras' front gate, in a meadow not far from the Snowbourn River, lay the lavish encampment of the elves. It was the view that Éomer had wanted to show Gildor while bringing him abreast of the current situation.

This whole arrangement did not come from Éomer's own design. Rather, it took on a life of its own. True to Aragorn's warning in his letter, the elves had come with their own equipment. They would not sit idly and be waited upon by their host. They came not only to partake in Men's way of celebrating Winter Solstice, but also to share their own customs and rites. They wanted to promote cultural exchange and the building of diplomatic bridges, and not least of all, to celebrate the fall of Sauron.

Accommodations within the city were deemed insufficient for what the elves had in mind. The steep terrain and uneven ground were also not conducive to holding a grand, festive gathering of grand proportions. Therefore, by the king's leave, they had set up camp and lain the groundwork for one epic, consolidated festival for all people on the wide plain outside the main gates. The people of Rohan welcomed the idea and were soon knee-deep in the massive undertaking. Working together with the elves, they turned a vast, empty field into one vibrant festival ground, teeming with venues, street fairs, artistic shows, and friendly tournaments. As more guests arrived from different regions, more stalls and attractions were added, for they were all eager to contribute presentations of something unique to their homelands.

With each passing day, Éomer watched in wonder as everything took shape and ran in full swing, as if a smaller city had just sprang from the snowy plain.

Despite his initial displeasure at being tricked by Aragorn, right at this moment Éomer couldn't help but feel humbled for his kingdom and people to have the opportunity to witness the collaborative efforts of the last elven realms in Middle-earth in peace time. They all knew this could very well be the last occasion for all the free peoples to come together to share companionship and good memories before the sad finality of the elves' eventual departure from Arda.

Suddenly, Éomer found his heart assailed by a wave of melancholy that should not belong on this fine day. He realized his speech had stopped mid-sentence and, to his abject embarrassment, he seemed to forget the rest of what he was going to say. He looked to Gildor, ready to apologize for losing focus. But Gildor, in his uncanny way of making him feel that he could just relax and be himself, simply smiled.

"Oh, they all came for a reason, indeed, but not what you might think it is, Highness."

Éomer closed his eyes briefly as his flow of thoughts returned. Ah yes, they were discussing tidings from Eriador when mention of the three elven rulers were suddenly brought up and Éomer couldn't help expressing his worry that something untoward might be going on to warrant their attendance.

"Please. Call me Éomer. At least when we're not duty-bound to behave in courtly manner."

"Very well, Éomer. You're a man of such straightforward nature that it feels wrong not to respond in kind," Gildor spoke with earnest regard in his eyes.

Éomer found a slice of comfort in how laid back and easy to talk to Gildor was, despite having only just met him for the first time. Barring a select few, most of the elves he'd met so far only inspired a sense of polite distance and cool apathy. Something about Gildor reminded him of another elf, another good friend. Someone he hadn't seen in quite a while.

"Éomer!"

Bless this devilry of impeccable timing.

"Legolas!" Éomer turned towards the source of the much missed voice, watching the light feet fly down the steps and make their exuberant way towards them. The king had to laugh out loud when the Wood-elf, now lord of the elves in Ithilien, did not show a trace of hesitation in greeting him with a spontaneous, brotherly hug. Legolas had been corrupted by Mannish culture beyond repair now.

"You are by yourself," Éomer noted. "I hope you have not misplaced your Dwarf and Ranger, especially your Ranger because I need to have a thorough _w_ _ord_ with him."

Legolas' eyes sparkled with mirth. "They're not here yet, as you can see." Here, he paused to look to the northwest, keen elven sight scouring the land for faraway signs. Then he continued, "Gimli, I wager, will arrive before nightfall. As for Aragorn － who knows. Maybe he's already here and merely keeping low to avoid the prospect of your thorough _w_ _ord_."

It was spoken in jest and they both knew it. Éomer laughed good-humouredly. Aragorn, the revered King of Gondor, couldn't have possibly sneaked in undetected.

_Could he?_

Good humor evaporated from Éomer's face. "I will order more guards posted to keep watch."

Legolas nodded solemnly. "A wise decision, my friend."

o~o~o~o~o~o

After exchanging greetings with Gildor, Legolas launched into a casual report of the party that travelled with him from Ithilien. The number of soldiers, merchants and performers for the festival, the varied goods they brought as gifts to people of Rohan, what kind of activities they sought to engage in and the offer of military service and manpower at the king's disposal for the duration of the event. Éomer thanked his elven friend on behalf of his people.

Their further discussion of lodging arrangements was interrupted by an orderly announcing the arrival of the Prince of Ithilien and his wife, the king's sister. Éomer parted company with both elves after bidding them to take some rest in the wake of their long journey. Legolas promised he would later, for he wished to seek out his father first. Éomer took one last look over his shoulder, fleetingly thinking he would very much like to find time to spend in pleasant conversations over drinks with them before all of this was over, if opportunity presented itself. Then he was gone to answer the call of duty.

After Éomer left, Gildor and Legolas turned to look at each other, the slow curve of knowing smiles quickly crumbled under the weight of the unbridled joy they had been holding back. They linked their hands together and Legolas let himself be pulled into the older elf's embrace, deeply savoring the comfort of their reawakened connection after being severed by duty and distance for so long.

"Legolas, _Lasthalion nín_ [my hero leaf], I have missed you so," Gildor regarded his young friend fondly.

"Gildor, it has been too long. My heart sings in gladness," whispered Legolas. His voice was tight with suppressed emotions. It felt difficult to hold himself together when Gildor's kind smile beckoned him to let go. Aside from his father, very few elves had the power to make him feel stripped bare to his soul yet safe from harm. Gildor was one of them.

Placing his fingers under Legolas chin, Gildor tilted his head up. Lighter and darker-hued blue eyes were locked in silent communion of their _fëa_ , a way to impart and derive knowledge from each other without so many words. Worry crept into Gildor's heart once he took a good look at the Silvan prince he'd watched over since he was just an elfling.

"You look careworn."

"'Tis the Sea Longing." Legolas didn't flinch from Gildor's soul-searching gaze, believing it not to be a lie if his excuse was more than half-truth. "I had no idea how great a burden it could be, but mine it shall stay now. Until I lose all reason to fight it."

Gildor gave him a skeptical look, but eventually released his hold and stepped back, exhaling a sigh.

"Thranduil raised you into an exemplary paragon of self-reliance. However, I do not approve. You should not be alone."

"But I am _not_ alone." Legolas replied, half stubbornly, half playfully.

"I see. I think you should've been made aware of this, then. Glorfindel is here."

Legolas glowered at Gildor's triumphant smirk.

"Gildor," intoned Legolas.

"Yes?"

"Haldir is here too."

Judging from the face Gildor made, Legolas would say victory leaned heavily on his side.

o~o~o~o~o~o

Six pair of the most innocent brown eyes stared at Éomer. Éomer stared back with menace.

"A litter of puppies, Éowyn? Really? Why must you bring them here all the way from your home? The dog population of Edoras is nowhere near extinct."

"Don't be such a wet blanket, brother. They are perfect for Solstice gifts, don't you think? Both of their parents are of the finest qualities and temperament you could look for in a dog. They will grow into brave, loyal and sweet-tempered companions and enrich someone's life. Would you deny them their destiny?"

Ah yes, Éowyn always knew how to pick the right words to force him into submission. How could he forget?

"Fine! But they're your responsibility until they're properly distributed. I don't want them wandering everywhere and risking being stepped on by my men."

Éowyn didn't say a word and simply gave him an adoring smile.

"I worry about my men! Not them! These little things are like walking accidents waiting to happen. It would be my men who are likely to sustain greater injuries because of them."

"I believe you, brother." Éowyn stood on tiptoe and kissed Éomer's cheek. "Thank you."

o~o~o~o~o~o

Later, the king's aide, Éothain could be seen making rounds inside and outside Meduseld, even covering the wide grounds surrounding the Great Hall, including the barracks, stables and all the usual haunts of the king's guards when they were off duty. Every time he made a stop, he would barge in without knocking, plod or shove his way to the center of the room and demand silence. With a grim look and imperious tone, he proceeded to speak out loud:

"I bear a message from our Lord King to his men. I will quote his exact words:

_'I don't care if you break your bones or smash your heads. There are puppies in the house. Watch your step! And don't dare speak of this to my sister!'_

End of message. You may resume your duties, or whatever you were doing prior to the interruption. Have a good day."


	2. Chapter 2

There had been a time when the Lord of the Golden Flower considered himself incapable of falling in true love, the kind of love that got Beren Erchamion killed, the kind of love that made Lúthien Tinúviel give up her immortality. He didn't think he had it in him. To love someone so utterly your own free will was reduced to ashes. Your own life became like a borrowed vessel used only to achieve your love's happiness. 

He had been young and foolish at the time, and soon learned that overconfidence begot only carelessness. It was already too late when he realized he had lost his heart. And once he'd known love, there was no turning back, his doom had taken shape in Vairë's tapestry.

His name was _Greenleaf_ , of the House of the Tree, an experienced scout and a good listener to all one’s troubles and insecurities. He was not an elf of noble birth. Unlike Glorfindel's striking beauty and glorious form, the older but smaller in stature elf had a thin, barely noticeable presence, an attribute that actually contributed to his being an excellent scout, among his many other talents.

Everything about he and Glorfindel couldn't have been more different than the sun and some unnamed rock buried deep in the mountain. They led different lifestyles, ran with different circles of friends, believed in different values. Yet against all odds, they managed to find each other, and fell in love.

Their relationship would've ended well, despite the fact that it took seemingly forever for the simple realization that he was ' _The One_ ' to penetrate the elf lord's thick head. Looking back now, Glorfindel marvelled at how much of a colossal idiot he had been, how he managed to let his own hubris lead their love to a ruinous ending. 

Glorfindel had made many mistakes in two lifetimes, but none he regretted more than the mistake of never saying 'I love you' to his _Greenleaf_.

He had been too lax, too secure in the knowledge that their love would remain unchanged, too selfish. Yes, he could admit it now, the kind of lousy jerk hiding beneath the skin of a noble lord he had been in the past. He knew his lover would wait for him, so he had made him wait. Without certainty. For so long.

And maybe a dark, sinister part of him believed that he, the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, a famed warrior and one of the High King's captains, was the better catch. Maybe deep down inside, a cowardly part of him hesitated to rush things along, instead opted to leave room and opportunity to change his mind later.

All he knew, in the precise moment when his whole life came apart, bathed in flame and the screams of refugees who watched in horror as his body was yanked into the abyss by the Balrog was that he had all his answers.

' _I love you_ _,_ _Laiqalassë_ _._ '

It was the last thing he whispered before his last breath. It was the first thing he mumbled when he woke up in the Halls of Mandos. But his words did not reach the one they were meant for. In the grey silence of the Halls, stripped to nothingness, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower sat and wept for a long time over his lost love.

As time went by, he found solace in the many familiar faces of friends and kin who dwelled within the Halls, and those he couldn't find. His greatest relief was the knowledge that his love had survived the calamity. It lifted his spirit to learn much later, after the unfortunate incident that brought his friend Egalmoth into Mandos' domain, that owing to Glorfindel's sacrifice, the refugees had managed to escape and reach safety. They became the last surviving people of Gondolin, who would live to carry the memories of the lost city.

Knowing that not only he had helped save his Lord's family, the weak and wounded, the women and children, but also his love, had made his redemption feel complete. He wept openly again, although this time from happiness. Hope blossomed in his heart like the lushest of peonies, pure and precious. One day he would see his love again. He would cast his pride and beg for forgiveness, do anything, give up everything, for a chance to be with him again.

His life would become the borrowed vessel to achieve his love's happiness. And he would revel in every second of it.

The path to his Healing had been cut short through divine intervention. Not only the Valar had seen fit to return him to life, they would send him back to Middle-earth as their emissary. Oh how blessed he was! How undeserving! But he would gladly take the offered chance and whatever burdens that entailed.

What remained of his family and friends that still lived in Valinor welcomed him with tears, love and boundless joy. For a time, he was forbidden to leave their watch, especially his mother's, for they knew Glorfindel would soon cross the sea again, back to the land of strife and death, back to Middle-earth.

In the short idyll he spent in Aman, Glorfindel was ecstatic to learn that his love had made it over the sea and now resided in Tol Eressëa. He wasted no time preparing to leave on the first ship that would take him to the island, against explicit warnings from his former Gondolin comrades. Nobody, not even Morgoth Bauglir himself, could stop him from reuniting with his true love.

Nobody except one person.

Before he could leave, suddenly someone he hadn't expected to see alive paid him a visit. Rog, former Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath. Glorfindel greeted him like he would a dear old friend, for indeed he was. But the reception was strangely chilly. With each stilted response his good friend gave as they talked, the more his foreboding grew, solidifying into an inexplicable fear.

Rog requested a private meeting with him. Glorfindel granted it without thinking. In the enclosed space, away from prying eyes and ears, he hoped the mystery would be laid out on the table.

What he heard nearly killed him a second time.

His love, his _Greenleaf_ , was already bonded to another.

And that person was standing right before his eyes.

Black, all-consuming rage took over his senses and body. The same renewed body that the Valar had bestowed with unworldly powers, powers he accidentally abused when his own physical strength couldn't inflict enough damage to bring down the tall, burly elf. Not for nothing was Rog the Master Blacksmith hailed as the strongest in Gondolin. The towering wall of his strength and endurance used to be a source of courage and morale boost for his comrade-in-arms in times of war. Now it only served to inflame Glorfindel's blind rage even further, until he couldn't remember his own name. All he knew was that Rog must die. ~~~~

A mighty voice shook him from the darkest fugue of bloodlust, a voice that bore ancient power that had withstood the onslaught of dark magic from Sauron. Glorfindel turned towards the voice, barely registering the smell of copper that had permeated the room, the sticky wetness seeping through his clutched fingers, and the look of horror on the faces of the people standing behind the intruder.

Glorfindel knew him. It was Finrod Felagund.

Finrod didn't say a word. He approached them in a non-threatening manner and came to stand before a dead-eyed Glorfindel, whose grip on the front of his enemy's tunic hadn't slackened. Then he laid one hand on the assailant, the other on the wounded Rog. Glorfindel's vision was suddenly flooded with light.

Then he _saw_.

The images were soft and light-hued, the voices faint and faraway, like a dream. He saw his love, and himself. Teasing at each other, listening to their friends' chatter while holding hands under the table, taking long walks in the night, kissing under the moonlight. The fleeting touches, the looks and secretive smiles they shared when they thought nobody was watching...

Glorfindel realized that he was made witness to a stream of memories.

Only these memories weren't his.

They were Rog's. 

Sometimes, the images of his love were shown in sharper detail than his surroundings. The little nuances in his expressions, the unconscious little movements he made, even little quirks Glorfindel had never noticed before... these were all from deeply etched memories, catalogued one by one and stored carefully like precious gems.

Then came the end of the world as they knew it. Glorfindel lost sight of his love, but he caught glimpses of himself arrayed in the golden armour of his House, rallying his people to defend the city. As he watched the bloody battle from the Master Blacksmith's eyes, he somehow knew that Rog was watching his back, making sure he was unharmed. The Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath would be the first to stand in the way of imminent threat headed Glorfindel's way. Swinging his mighty war hammer of intimidating size and tremendous force, he valiantly held the defense and shattered the enemy ranks, until he was brought down by a volley of black arrows. Arrows that would've pierced Glorfindel's back had Rog not moved to shield him.

Numbly, Glorfindel watched as the life-changing events unfolded. He couldn't stop seeing even if he wanted to. He saw his love again, but this time in the silent throes of grief, completely withdrawn and secluded. Horrified, powerless... Glorfindel watched the light of his fëa dwindle, his hröa languishing from self-neglect until his life all but hung by a thread. Laiqalassë was fading.

Glorfindel's heart broke so utterly he felt as if his chest had been torn open. In that moment, more than anything he ever wanted in his life, he wished for someone to save his love.

' _Please save him._ '

' _Please tell him that he is loved._ '

And someone did.

For the first time since the beginning of these rolling scenes, his love finally turned his eyes to his watcher － finally noticing, looking surprised, growing confused. There was rejection, there was stubborn avoidance. But the watcher did not look away. He continued to pester the grieving elf until he grew mad and hated his guts. But he was fine with that, as long as he became a constant presence that reminded Laiqalassë that he was not alone.

It wasn't some miracle or heroic feat. It was just a selfless, enduring love over uncounted centuries that had saved Laiqalassë. There were times when his grief would leave him in such a state that all hope seemed lost, that death was the only mercy he would get. It took considerable time and peerless patience for Rog to show him a way out of the darkness, to convince him how much his life meant, to remind him of Glorfindel's love and sacrifice.

After what seemed like a lifetime of hopeless struggle, Rog's tireless efforts finally started to bear fruit. Glorfindel watched in wonder and swelling joy as the veil of death was gradually lifted from over his love's head. Peace and light had returned to his eyes after such a long absence. At last, he was freed from his heart-sickness.

But something was also beginning to change.

Glorfindel had seen it coming. How could he not? At this point, how could he deny his love anything that might have led him to happiness? Laiqalassë had been so sad and heartbroken for so long... Glorfindel wanted to reach out to the phantom image of his lover and tell him not to be afraid, that he would always love him no matter what path he chose.

As if sensing Glorfindel's thoughts, Laiqalassë looked straight into his eyes, only he knew it wasn't really him those green eyes focused on. There was fearful hope, and there was also courage not to run anymore. Glorfindel held his breath, bracing for the finale. His love cracked a shy smile and whispered those sacred words.

' _I love you too._ '

Glorfindel heaved a loud gasp as his world spun violently and tilted back to the present. He stumbled backwards, swaying on his feet as his mind took its time to regain clarity and digest what had just happened. Restored lucidity opened his eyes to what he had done, the extent of the damage he had created.

The room looked like it had been wrecked by a storm. All the furniture was either overturned or shattered. The stone walls were littered with cracks, dents, even large craters. Amidst the destruction, Rog slumped in the middle of the crater created when his body was slammed into the wall

He was the one who did all of this, Glorfindel realized. And Rog did not put up a fight, did not even raise a hand in defense. He took every blow Glorfindel dealt him. It was nothing short of amazing that he still stood.

Even so, it was obvious his body had sustained damage that would've killed a lesser man. Blood pooled at his feet, and as Finrod severed their mental link with proper care, Rog sagged to the floor, his strength finally giving out.

Glorfindel felt sick to his stomach. He nearly killed the elf his _Greenleaf_ loved now.

He knew he had no right to see his love ever again.

o~o~o~o~o~o

Millennia later, far away across the sea, in another life, another Age, Glorfindel of Imladris still couldn't forget his first love, his only true love. Lovers might come and go, but he allowed none to overstep and overstay. Enforcing his personal rule of ' _sex only, no relationship_ ' got easier in the Third Age, especially with the elves from younger generations. They worshipped him, idolized him; he was a walking God among them. And God did not belong to just one individual.

Of course there were a few brave souls now and then, those who dared to dream of winning the dashing, powerful elf lord's heart and seal their happily ever after. Depending on who they were, Glorfindel would benignly burst their little bubbles in the spirit of teaching them a life lesson. Some who were less well-behaved, the more brazen and clingy type, he had no compunction putting in their place in the most definitive way, shaming them beyond remedy.

If only they knew that they could never win anything from him, not even a miniscule piece of his heart.

He had loved and would only love his _Greenleaf_.

The last thing he expected was for fate to send him another _Greenleaf_.

It all started when Elrond had decided to re-establish contact with King Thranduil's realm after a prolonged estrangement since War of the Last Alliance. The scion of Eärendil had confided in his old friend that he had been visited by visions of the oncoming of a great war with the Dark Forces, a dark time barren of hope and favorable outcome. In those visions, he saw a Wood-elf, whose presence would be a vital part in the events that led up to the war. And that Wood-elf did not come from the Golden Wood.

A matter of course for Elrond would be to turn his attention to the only other Woodland Realm, namely Mirkwood. The Peredhel knew that in order to facilitate the visions to become reality, first of all, his broken friendship must be mended with Thranduil. Or at the very least, both of them must be on speaking terms.

Sending Glorfindel was the most obvious choice. Not only was the Balrog-slayer well-versed in politics and had three ages worth of experience in any kind of situation, he was also a consummate warrior. Elrond could rely on him to assess the threat of venturing into the Great Forest before the Lord of Rivendell unknowingly sent his diplomats into the jaws of danger.

Accompanied only by two guards, Glorfindel left the valley before midsummer. With speed and efficiency, they managed to reach the woodland border without a hitch and in less time than usually needed. But therein awaited their real challenge, finding their way to the Elvenking's Halls.

To make matters worse, all the luck that had brought them so far without difficulty seemed to be used up and now counterbalanced with problem after problem. First, it started to rain rather heavily. After hours of trekking along the muddy path, they realized they were lost. Retracing their steps somehow made them even more lost in the unfriendly forest.

Shielding his eyes from the rain, Glorfindel looked up into the trees and the inky sky, contemplating their next move. Finding shelter to wait out the weather seemed like their best, safest option. As he made up his mind, he almost missed the glimpse of something that blended adroitly with the thick foliage above him.

Smiling blue eyes.

They were not alone anymore! Alarm pricked his senses into full alert. He called out to his companions, only to find that the guards held hostage at arrow point. More shadows appeared to surround them, the glint of their arrow tips unmistakable. Though their besiegers were all cloaked with hoods that hid their faces, the elf lord quickly noted that their weapons, light armor, and clothing were of elvish make.

Glorfindel took his hand off the hilt of his sword and held up both hands in peace-seeking gesture. Even through the pounding rain, his voice rang with authority. He introduced himself and his escorts, then stated his business in the area, unashamed to admit that they were lost and needed guidance to reach the king's halls.

The troop leader came forward to greet Glorfindel, signaling his warriors to lower their weapons while also airily quipping about the Noldor's troublesome penchant for getting lost in the woods. The Mirkwood wardens had to put a stop to the trio's squelching clamor because they were encroaching too close to a spiders' nest. The jest was taken in stride, for Glorfindel was no mean-spirited elf who couldn't read between the lines. The wardens were clearly poised in battle mode, ready to storm the foul creatures. The trio were just unlucky －or in fact, _lucky_ － enough to walk right into their position.

The ancient warrior quickly offered their swords to join the fight. No matter what differences they might have, they were all allies in the war against darkness. Elmethil, the leader of the woodland warriors, did not give his answer straight away. Instead, he fell silent as he eyed Glorfindel with an inscrutable look. The elf lord was beginning to lose his patience when out of nowhere, a lithe figure landed behind him.

Those same smiling blue eyes, he recognized them instantly.

And set in a rather attractive face, his traitorous mind added.

The newcomer approached his captain with a graceful step, deliberately going around Glorfindel so closely they almost brushed each other. He looked young compared to his fellow squad members, but his demeanor clearly wasn't that of an inexperienced cadet. He spoke with his captain in a low voice. At one point, they both turned to look at Glorfindel at the same time. He challenged their gaze with a hard stare of his own.

Finally, Elmethil broke the eye contact first, a slight droop in his posture a sign of his capitulation. Explaining that their scout － _That_ _enticing_ _elf was a scout!_ － had found a new extension of the spider nest that was previously undetected. That meant more spiders to deal with, so extra swords would indeed aid their mission.

"You and your warriors will join Legolas, closing in from the nest extension side. Cut down any that try to flee," Elmethil instructed.

_Legolas._

_Greenleaf._

Glorfindel felt himself frozen and inundated with emotions for a breathless moment. Did the Valar intend to test him or mock him by presenting this delectable mimicry of his true love? Were they trying to make him forget and move on? Too bad, that wouldn't happen. Nobody could replace his _Greenleaf_!

But after his initial reaction, Glorfindel silently laughed at his own silliness. Of course it was a mere coincidence, nothing more. There was nothing special about this Greenleaf, nothing worth raising his vigilance. He was just an attractive young scout who had only ever minded his own business, above suspicion of any conspiracy with the Higher Powers to lure Glorfindel into some unknown trap. It wouldn't be fair to treat him any other way.

More pressing matters soon took over Glorfindel's mind as they primed themselves for battle in their appointed spot. The elf named Legolas and another fellow warden took to higher boughs with the plan of raining arrows from above and forcing any spider they encountered to flee down to the ground, where the two Imladrian guards were lying in wait. Glorfindel situated himself midway between them, off the ground and a few levels below the Mirkwood archers, ready to hack any stray spider that managed to elude the firing of arrows before it could either escape or pose a threat to the archers above or the guards below.

Their number might be small, but more than enough to serve their purpose, which was basically blocking exit from the back door, so to speak. Elmethil and a score of his troops still shouldered the bulk of the extermination job. Theirs was more of a clean-up job, but Glorfindel had no cause for complaint. Not － he looked up to where the blond archer was crouching in position － with the side bonus of having _him_ near.

A trifling thought flitted whimsically before all hell broke loose; he wouldn't mind a dalliance with the fair-haired scout for as long as his duty in Mirkwood allowed him.

o~o~o~o~o~o

But dalliance was not to be had, nor ever to be had, once he learned the true identity of the youth. _Thranduilion_. Now he was convinced that the Valar were mocking him, wrapping a surprise gift in expressive blue eyes, beautiful smiles and a body made to be worshipped, only to tell him that he may not touch it.

Glorfindel would've been far happier had Legolas been born a nobody. Not because the elf lord wouldn't treat him as an equal, far from it, he had earned Glorfindel's respect by deeds and not by status. Glorfindel only wished it because choosing the path to take would've been so much easier. Right now, too much hung over his head, not just politics but also the fate of Middle-earth. He simply couldn't afford to offend his host.

Thranduil made him spend a significant time in his kingdom as a sign of Imladris' goodwill. The two guards who accompanied his journey were sent back with Silvan escorts and the king's letter, stating that Elrond may start planning his peace talk _after_ Mirkwood returned their Balrog-slayer, which might take a while, depending on the king's mood.

In the meantime, Thranduil had no qualms availing himself of everything Glorfindel had to offer. How could he resist the chance to have the famous Glorfindel, emissary of the Valar, serve his House for a time? And Thranduil was one accomplished taskmaster, Glorfindel could vouch for that. The king had the prudence not to run his guest ragged, yet Glorfindel found that he rarely had free time to himself.

First, Thranduil made the Noldo warrior join Mirkwood patrols and sorties to cleanse the forest of orcs and spiders. When he was not on patrol duty, working side by side with the Mirkwood army commanders, he would be tasked with training the Mirkwood soldiers with new drills and combat techniques, upgrading their skills with foreign knowledge of warfare and battle formations.

At evenings, whenever Glorfindel was home －his temporary home－ Thranduil would make it a mandatory obligation for the elf lord to join his family dinner. An intimate mealtime with just father and son would oft extend into a long nightcap session. They would sequester themselves in the king's private study, where they were sometimes joined by Galion, making the most of a good bottle as company to pleasant conversations, a game of chess or even silly childhood games.

At times like these, the king and the prince would take off their mantles of leadership and become simply father and son, who enjoyed teasing their awkward guest. Getting used to their family dynamics took time, but Glorfindel undeniably felt that he was let into their special little circle, and it truly humbled him. 

Any thoughts of dalliance he once idly entertained had evaporated once he got to know the prince. Legolas was a pure soul. Losing his mother at such a tender age, and knowing somehow that her death had to do with saving his life, broke him inside. Thranduil's aversion to any mention of his deceased wife only exacerbated his son's sickness of heart. Legolas didn't believe he had a right to be governed by typical youth's folly. He had learned to stamp out any urges to give in into carelessness and abandon since he was very young. If there was such a thing as a model prince in Middle-earth, he would be it. Always on his best behavior, always striving to lead by example, always putting others before himself.

He was loved by his friends and subjects, but none could ever reach him. None could ever teach him that he would be loved unconditionally despite his failures.

None could teach him that he should live for himself. 

And it broke Glorfindel's heart. He wanted to be the one to reach out to Legolas and make him understand that he deserved to be occasionally stupid and selfish, to make mistakes, to be himself. 

But above all, he deserved to be happy.

He tried all he could, in a non-intrusive way, to make the prince see that. He didn't know whether he succeeded or not. All he knew was that anyone who tried to approach the prince without the purest of intentions would be introduced to the sharp end of his vengeful sword. 

A year passed in almost the blink of an eye. That's what happened when your body was kept busy and your mind was constantly engaged day in and day out. Some also said that good times tended to pass too quickly. Glorfindel wouldn't have guessed when he set out from Rivendell a year ago, that the day would come when he would leave Mirkwood and head back home with a feeling of regret and longing.

In the labour-intensive year they had spent together, something had changed between him and Legolas. Glorfindel could not bring himself to fake ignorance of it. The way the prince's eyes would light up whenever Glorfindel entered the room, the way the tips of his ears would turn pink whenever the blond Noldo bent to whisper something only shared between them, the way the younger elf couldn't suppress a shiver whenever their fingers accidentally brushed each other. Glorfindel would be lying if he said those things didn't make his heart skip in the slightest.

But he also couldn't deny that his hands were tied. This was one relationship he could not pursue no matter what.

On the eve of his departure, the prince asked but one request from Glorfindel, that he be allowed to write to the elf lord from time to time. Now that contact between the two realms had been re-established, no doubt frequent written communication would follow. Glorfindel couldn’t deny such a simple request. Already the spell of the prince's sincere blue eyes caused a mass of contradicting emotions. A wise part of him advised himself not to encourage false hope, that he should make a clean break then and there. Meanwhile, a foolish part of him thrilled with delight, could not stop said delight from showing on his face despite his non-committal answer. And Legolas saw that.

Glorfindel knew he was digging himself into a hole, and secretly he would have it no other way.

The letter did come. _Letters_ even. Sometimes he received more than one letter in one dispatch. Legolas shyly admitted that words flowed better when he was writing them. When he was feeling nervous, he had a tendency to clam up, something he had been trying to change, for it was unbecoming of a prince to be overcome by nerves. He confessed that spending time with Glorfindel had helped him improve that particular weakness of his, because he was always feeling nervous near the elf lord.

Honestly, it was highly unbecoming too for an ancient elf like him to be overcome by giddiness like a maiden just from reading letters. Already his old friend Erestor wouldn't stop ribbing about how the mighty Glorfindel had fallen. But he didn't care. One arrival of a letter from Legolas made his day more than a night of steamy sex with multiple partners.

In the following decades, Glorfindel slowly came to realization that his whole mental well being now hinged on the well being of the woodland prince. In the year when the Battle of the Five Armies took place, Legolas' letters had stopped coming altogether. Glorfindel was beside himself with worry. It wasn't the doubt that Legolas had lost interest in their correspondence that troubled him. No, in his heart he knew it must be because something had happened to his prince.

Official correspondence between Thranduil and Elrond suffered no change at all, which made Glorfindel stew in his growing anxiety even more. Taking pity on his old friend, Elrond took the initiative in inquiring after Thranduil's son, worded carefully as a light question of a concerned elder. To Glorfindel's endless frustration, Thranduil chose to dismiss the subtle probing with a simple ' _He is doing fine_ ' answer. Elrond and Erestor had a hard time dissuading Glorfindel from leaving immediately for Mirkwood.

Just when the last thread of Glorfindel's patience was about to snap, a godsend arrived in the form of one Gildor Inglorion, having just arrived with his band of wanderers in the courtyard of Rivendell. Their eyes met across the lofty flight of stairs Glorfindel was about to descend in order to greet them. The tug of a smile that could only be described as unbearably smug graced Gildor's lips as he reached inside the folds of his robes and made an exaggerated flourish of showing what was grasped in his hand.

A thick wad of letters tied with a green ribbon.

Glorfindel literally flew down the stairs, barely stopping himself from barrelling into his laughing friend, whom he wanted to kiss so much right then out of sheer gratitude. He settled instead on hugging him so tightly in front of everyone that Gildor made a squeaky noise of protest before he let go.

Later that night, Glorfindel excused himself from family dinner, appetite all but lost in the mounting excitement of reading Legolas' words again after such a long drought. More than three years had passed since his last letter. He was dying to learn any news about Legolas, to find out if he was alright.

It turned out that Legolas had never stopped writing to him. He kept writing no matter where he was. After the Battle of the Five Armies, his simmering discontent with his father's way had reached to a point where he must be away from the Elven-king's Halls until he could ground himself again. His father advised him to go north and seek the Dúnedain rangers. There he met and befriended Elrond's foster son, Estel, known in the wilds as Strider. 

Legolas had spent the last couple of years living in anonymity with the rangers, only a few trusted souls knew who he really was. The biggest drawback of leaving Mirkwood, he found out later, was that he lost the only reliable means to send his letters to Imladris. Of course there were other alternatives he could try, but he dared not take the risk. These letters contained words he poured from his heart, his bared weakness, meant only for Glorfindel's eyes. He could not countenance the possibility of their falling into the wrong hands.

So the unsent letters piled up, because he couldn't stop writing them. It was his solace in times of uncertainty, his escape from boredom and loneliness. Up in the trees while taking watch for his resting human friends at night, Legolas would take out his leather folder that stored all his writing kit and written pages, and set out to pen the latest news, important accounts and his own private thoughts for his only confidant across the Misty Mountains.

Reading all of this, Glorfindel had to pause and walk outside to his balcony for a spell, eyes filled with moisture that threatened to spill over. He missed Legolas so much. Silently he implored Varda to keep him safe and protect him from evil.

After he collected himself, Glorfindel returned to his desk and the last page where he had left off. This time he didn't stop until he finished the last letter. Then he went back and re-read the whole stack of letters again, twice.

Legolas wrote how he finally had a break in luck when he and Aragorn incidentally crossed paths with Gildor's Wandering Company. They spent a brief time travelling together until their paths diverged again. Gildor had made a promise that he would make sure Legolas' letters were personally delivered to Glorfindel's waiting hand.

Legolas had mentioned in his last hastily scribbled note how Gildor, when presented with the amount of letters he had been asked to deliver, had suggested with a mildly stupefied face that he’d be better served using a blank book for convenience sake. Legolas asked Glorfindel to punch Gildor again if their friend was making jokes of his prolific writing habit in front of Glorfindel's friends and family in Rivendell, only not so hard, because Legolas still owed him an immense debt of gratitude.

Glorfindel wore a lingering smile until the next day.

Even though his friends and family knew about his remarkable closeness with the prince of Mirkwood, most of them believed that the solicitude of their bond was that of a mentor and protégé. Glorfindel had taken great pains to make sure nobody suspected otherwise. A number of things factored into his decision to maintain this facade. Legolas was a prince of his people and had done nothing to earn even the slightest disapproval. Glorfindel, on the other hand, had quite a reputation as a libertine ever since he joined Elrond's household. The last thing he wanted was to subject Legolas to rampant gossip and speculation of a scandalous relationship with an elf old enough to be his grandfather, or worse, being labelled as one of Glorfindel's conquests.

There was also the possibility that one day Legolas might choose to marry and provide an heir to his kingdom. Glorfindel was old enough to know his heart, but Legolas was still fairly young in Eldar reckoning. The future was not carved in stone, anything could happen. If the unthinkable happened and Glorfindel had to step down and out of sight for Legolas’ happiness, he would do so with the utmost care, leaving Legolas' name unsullied.

And then there was also the matter of Elrond's prophecy that had yet come to pass.

Whatever path Legolas might choose, Glorfindel would gladly wait forever for him. This _love_ － yes, for it was _love_ in its truest form, he would no longer deny it, had grown so naturally it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It didn't start with the usual hallmarks of a passionate romance; the slow burn of sexual tension, the dance of seduction, the torrid lust that drowned all reason and better judgement. Forget about sex, they had never even shared a lovers' kiss. Yet inside, Glorfindel could feel the bright pulse of love that transcended mere worldly desires. Even if they were doomed to never have each other, he would still love Legolas with his whole being until the end of Time.

Glorfindel wondered what Laiqalassë would say about this. Even their love had first started from casual sex. Selfless love was the last thing anyone who knew Glorfindel would associate with him, the unrepentant sexual hedonist. Laiqalassë would probably laugh and celebrate the fact that finally there was someone who could make a decent elf out of an ignominious lecher like him.

His love and integrity were put to a serious test when he saw Legolas appear at the council held at Elrond's bidding to decide the fate of Middle-earth, stepping foot in the fair valley for the first time, his awestruck eyes sweeping his surroundings in a childlike wonder. Glorfindel knew by then that he was the one who would carry the burden, that _he_ was the Wood-elf in Elrond's visions. Elrond had been right in sending Glorfindel to Mirkwood, his involvement had borne the desired outcome. And Glorfindel was left dealing with the horror of having to send his love into untold danger, to the front line of war.

The joy of their reunion was marred by Glorfindel's inconsolable despair. He raged at himself, wanted to rage at Elrond and the whole world. How could they conspire to make him responsible for Legolas taking part in this insurmountable challenge of facing the darkness in Mordor? Elrond, so deep-set in his belief that he must fulfil his visions, did not even contemplate the likelihood of sending any other elf besides Legolas. Glorfindel was not about to let Elrond pass down the decision uncontested.

Words of Glorfindel's adamant rebuff of Legolas' participation in the Quest inevitably reached the prince's ears and put a strain on their interaction. Legolas confronted Glorfindel when they were alone. What had started out as a neutral debate to convince Glorfindel that he did not offer his bow to the Ringbearer out of some youthful hubris, had led to their first full-blown argument. Overwhelmed with strong emotions and guilt, Glorfindel had said some things he wished he could take back. He told Legolas how his lack of motherly love had turned him into a foolish, approval-starved workhorse. 

The hurt he saw in that beloved face unravelled him completely.

Before Glorfindel could fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness, for pride and dignity held no meaning compared to losing Legolas' regard, the Silvan warrior had stepped back and shut himself off behind a wall of cold fury. Legolas shot back that since he no longer had any _elf_ friend in Imladris, he would have to defend his own worth before Lord Elrond and see who won in the end.

He left before Glorfindel could recover enough from the shock to muster a response.

Legolas left to sleep in some unknown tree that night.

The next day, he disappeared into the nearby woods. The following day, he joined Aragorn, heading out on some Quest-related undertaking.

Suddenly Erestor couldn't seem to leave Glorfindel alone. His friend joked that he had the look of someone about to throw himself from a cliff into a dry river, though Erestor's tone sounded a tad too brittle and humorless. Glorfindel wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. He wouldn't kill himself that easily, not as long as Legolas still lived. Yet it was also true that he would find no joy in living anymore if Legolas broke all ties with him.

Glorfindel perversely suggested that rather than stalking him, Erestor had better help him find a way to grovel for Legolas' forgiveness.

Even when Elrond offered his sympathy and announced that Legolas would be leaving with the Fellowship in the same breath, Glorfindel had no fight left in him. He just wanted Legolas to forgive him and talk to him again.

Erestor hadn't had the chance to build enough rapport with Legolas to approach him with a personal request. Luckily though, he knew someone who already had.

So, in no small amount of satisfaction, the Chief Advisor brightened when he saw a smirking Estel clap his listless-looking former mentor on the back and tell him to skip dinner and wait in his room tonight. Glorfindel looked adorably confused.

Not that skipping dinner was a difficult demand. In fact, he had been doing exactly that for the last couple of nights. Succulent food tasted like ashes in his mouth. And he could do without the looks of concern the household members were giving him every time he left the table with more wine in his stomach and hardly a bite of solid food.

He was halfway downing a newly opened bottle when a knock came on his door. Thinking it was Erestor or some unfortunate maid charged with bringing dinner, Glorfindel opened the door and was about to make clear that he was feeling inhospitable tonight.

Inhospitable flew out the window when he found Legolas bearing a tray of food. ~~~~

A bit too eager, a bit too afraid that it was only a dream, Glorfindel asked Legolas to come in. The nervous Noldo could breathe a little easier after he closed the door behind them, a deceptive confinement of Legolas in his bedroom until he could apologize and make things right again.

Surprisingly, Legolas firmly put his foot down and would entertain no conversation until Glorfindel finished his meal. The elder obeyed his word like a meek kitten. So they sat in near silence save for the sound of cutlery scraping against plate, clear water being poured into crystal glass. Declining to share the food, for Legolas already eaten his fill, the prince occupied himself by cutting the food into bite-sized morsels and transferring them to Glorfindel's plate. He just needed an excuse to keep his hands busy instead of sweating from nerves. And though it seemed stupid, Glorfindel didn't tell him to stop.

How could Glorfindel ask him to stop? The ecstatic elf lord just wanted this moment to last forever.

They made up that night and all was right again in Glorfindel's world. The few remaining days before the Fellowship departed were spent with Glorfindel staying by Legolas' side, taking the prince on a much delayed sightseeing tour of the scenic valley, exclusively sharing his favourite spots and concealed hideaways. Their night times were not so carefree for they were usually found in deep council with Mithrandir, Aragorn, Erestor and Elrond. Glorfindel was all too aware that their time together was winding down.

Finally, the dreaded day arrived, steeped in the atmosphere of Winter Solstice celebration. No festive cheer would ever lift Glorfindel's spirits again until the day his sweet and valorous prince returned to him. In the brief lull when last farewells were being exchanged between friends and loved ones, Legolas took Glorfindel's hand and drew him away from the gathering to a quiet corner. Wordlessly in the hand he raised and upturned, he placed his letter. It was going to be his last for a long while.

Glorfindel gave in for a change, uncaring of consequences and propriety and whatever else that made the world go round. He pulled Legolas into his arms, breathing in the scent of his hair, leaning down to kiss the tip of his ear, whispering fervent prayers to Eru Ilúvatar to beseech his blessing and mercy. Tears misted both of their eyes when they separated, but Legolas kept his hopeful smile.

They would see each other again, promised that smile.

In hindsight, the one thing Glorfindel regretted not doing that day was to open the letter right away. He had thought to savour reading it late at night when the valley inhabitants were already asleep, with a glass of wine and the warmth of a fireplace keeping him company, so he could carry the fresh memory of every cherished word into his dream.

Big mistake.

The crystal goblet fell from his nerveless fingers with a loud crash, creating a mess of glass splinters and spilled wine all over his floor. Glorfindel's body was shaking uncontrollably. His power to perceive reality was stretched to the limit. He was going out of his mind.

Because this wasn't just any other letter.

In this letter, Legolas was confessing his love for Glorfindel.

Legolas _loved_ him.

Crumpling the letter in both hands, he pressed the paper to his trembling lips as he let his tears fall freely. What a sweet but cruel surprise...

No, he wouldn't call it cruel. Never. He was blessed, more than anyone and anything he could think of, to be loved by Legolas. For his part, Legolas had stated in the letter that he was understandably daunted by the depth of love he felt for Glorfindel. He feared not just the elder's rejection, but also the change it would've wrought on their friendship. In his letter, Legolas apologized for being such a coward who couldn't say the words face to face. Glorfindel just wanted to kiss away all his fears.

Moments later, Glorfindel watched his tremulous fingers smooth out the wrinkled letter on his desk. His senses were still careening from the shock, but his psyche was strangely calm now, glowing with the knowledge that Legolas was his. He didn't think it possible, but he had something incredibly amazing in his life now. He would not mess it up again.

He traced the last line of the letter, letting the words burn into his mind and spur his hope and conviction.

_'Next time we see each other, please let me know your answer.'_

Next time they met, Legolas had better be ready to receive Glorfindel's answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**~Edoras, Present Day~**

Hunting Legolas down proved to be an unexpected challenge. His room was empty and when Glorfindel asked around about his whereabouts, the answers he received were strangely unforthcoming, deliberately misleading, making him run in circles.

By the time he finally had a lead － thanks to Éomer's Chief Steward, Gamling － it was already past midday. According to the latest report from Rohan guards, Legolas was last seen helping to herd in the animals that had escaped a broken fence and gotten onto the festival grounds.

Glorfindel wasted no time marching to the stable in impatient strides, heading straight to the stall of his loyal mount, Asfaloth. Without bothering to put on any tack or saddle, the duo were off, speeding down the hill, crossing the main gates and reaching the intended destination just in time to catch the last of the workers packing up their tools, having finished their job of mending the fence.

But Legolas was nowhere to be found.

A quick interrogation at the scene unearthed no clue as to where Legolas had gone to. All Glorfindel could do was walk aimlessly and ask around, blue eyes hopelessly searching for signs of moonlit gold hair and the radiant beacon that was the prince's presence. He had a mind to climb the tall, wooden structure built in the centre area to function as a watch tower for the duration of the festival. It covered the entire festival ground in its field of view. A rotation of guard duty ensured that the watch post was never empty. Surely the guard keeping watch for the last hour would know something.

Glorfindel was just about to make a turn and nearly missed the sight of Haldir walking by. But luckily, he didn't. He had a moment of delayed reaction before he all but pounced on the unsuspecting Galadhren. 

"Haldir! Please stop!"

Haldir's vision was suddenly invaded with a faceful of anxious-looking Glorfindel. He looked down to the almost iron grip the taller elf had on his upper arm and back up to his face with a slanted eyebrow.

"A good day to you too, O' intrepid Glorfindel. Much as I find your enthusiasm to see me flattering, I ask you to step back a bit before we start turning heads."

In different circumstances and with better timing, Glorfindel would have found Haldir's sense of humor amusing. But not at this moment. He ignored his jab and leaned in even closer to show he was in no mood for light-hearted banter.

"Have you seen Legolas?"

Haldir gave a slow blink, finding the situation a tad ironic. "As a matter of fact, I have. We seem to be plagued by the same predicament. Only yours doesn't seem to be aware that you're looking for him." Glorfindel thought he detected a hint of wistful regret in Haldir's eyes before he brushed the hand that held him immobile, graciously stepping back.

"Mine is zealously avoiding me."

What was Haldir talking about? But the answer came rather quickly to Glorfindel's mind.

"Gildor," he said simply. "He is here."

It was a hazard of staying as guests in another kingdom, especially a kingdom currently wrapped up in hosting a grand scale gathering of people from all over Middle-earth. They weren't necessarily informed of the comings and goings pertaining to other guests. The one person who had a knack for keeping tabs of important details, and whom he could usually rely on for almost any kind of information, Erestor, had decided to put up his feet and take a holiday break.

Glorfindel briefly wondered why Gildor hadn't sought him out yet, if he was here. They had always been thick as thieves since Glorfindel's return to Arda and his brief residence in Lindon. Haldir seemed to read Glorfindel's mind for he too appeared to be mulling over his current standing, and what was going on in Gildor's head.

"That is... unfortunate to hear." Glorfindel continued, undeterred. There would be time to solve this puzzle later. First and foremost, he needed to locate Legolas. "I would see what has our friend so caught up that he forgot to greet us, later, after I find my Legol-... I mean, Prince Legolas."

Glorfindel was grateful that Haldir chose not to comment on his slip of the tongue, yet the Lórien elf was also irksome enough to let him know that it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Ah yes, I'm afraid your own search isn't quite over yet. Not too long ago, I saw _your_ prince from afar, standing in the periphery of the craft workshops, engaged in deep conference with King Éomer about something. As I moved to approach them, they seemed to have reached an agreement and wrapped up their impromptu meeting. I did not have the chance to get within hailing distance before they both left in the direction of the city.

King Éomer was accompanied by his men and so was Legolas. They appeared to be all geared up for a mission, not a leisure stroll in the town. So I wager they must be heading straight to the Golden Hall. Something must be cropping up, though I sensed no urgency in their interaction. If you make haste, perhaps you'll catch Legolas before he leaves again."

"Thank you, _mellon_." Glorfindel thanked Haldir from his heart. After encountering obstacle after obstacle since morning, to find someone actually helping him for a change was a boon he felt genuinely grateful for. Glorfindel gave a shrill whistle and into their sight Asfaloth came trotting, adeptly picking his way through the semi-crowded traffic of festival-goers.

"Or you can just wait until late evening to corner him in his room. Without disturbance," Haldir added almost conversationally as Glorfindel swung his long legs up to mount Asfaloth. Glorfindel did it so effortlessly and with such grace that every citizen of Rohan, young and old, who happened to be nearby, all ceased their movement to gape in awe at him. Haldir couldn't help feeling amused.

"Why the impatience, Lord Seneschal?"

Glorfindel refused to rise to the bait and indulge Haldir's curiosity with an answer. At least not right now. "Rest assured that my earlier words were not spoken out of courtesy, Haldir. After my business is done, I would seek Gildor out next and talk to him."

Haldir acknowledged Glorfindel's offer of help with a slight incline of his head.

"If you do find Gildor, tell him that he can't hide from me forever."

o~o~o~o~o~o

Returning to his starting point, Glorfindel made short work of depositing Asfaloth back in his stall. In a soft voice he whispered his apology for having to leave right away but also promised to make it up to his equine friend after his business was done. Before he left the stable, he called out to a stable boy and asked him to feed and water his horse as well as give him a good brush. He discreetly slipped the young man a gold coin, for it was Men's custom to leave a tip in return for a favor from the working class, and because the simple act of generosity would no doubt brighten the young man's day.

Or maybe it was just a token of his own hope for a brightened day as well.

Finding the King of the Mark was a walk in the park compared to finding his Legolas. Soon enough, Glorfindel caught up with his quarry. Glorfindel's heart raced when he spotted Éomer and his companion walking towards the king's office. Éomer's hand was about to open the door when his eyes registered Glorfindel heading straight to meet them. The king paused his speech and pointed a look over the elf's shoulder, thus alerting his friend of another's approach. The elf turned around, Glorfindel felt his heart soar to the song-filled sky... 

Only to meet eye to eye not with Legolas, but...

Gildor. _Of all people!_

It took every ounce of his composure not to vent his disappointment in front of the King of Rohan.

"Greetings, your Highness." Glorfindel gave a shallow bow, which was returned by Éomer with a slight tilt of his head.

Gildor extended his hand and clapped his old friend's forearm in warrior greeting. "Glorfindel. It's been a long time. How fare you these days?"

"Gildor. I'm well and pleased to see you again. I'm glad you decided to take part in the celebration and made the journey here," rejoined Glorfindel. "I also hope 'tis merely the amount of work that's preventing you from reacquainting with old friends and not because more urgent matters demand your attention. "

Glorfindel shot his friend a reprimanding look that managed to make Gildor squirm slightly in his shoes. He then turned his attention back to the waiting king.

"Pardon my intrusion to your busy schedule, Highness. But I'm in need of your assistance to apprise me of the whereabouts of Prince Legolas."

The way Éomer and Gildor looked awkwardly at each other before answering him was telltale enough to douse Glorfindel's hopes. He felt his head swimming with bewilderment and disbelief, struggling to make sense what Éomer was saying.

"You are out of luck, Lord Glorfindel. I'm afraid Legolas has left the city."

Glorfindel seethed like a brewing storm. "Wherefore is he leaving?! What has happened to him?!"

Éomer clearly had not anticipated Glorfindel's vehement reaction to the news and was visibly startled. Gildor hastily cut in to rescue him.

"Peace, _mellonen_ [my friend]. You misinterpreted the King's words. Legolas' departure is but for a short while and only because he's carrying out an errand."

Glorfindel stood speechless for an awkward moment, then his anger deflated just as quickly as it had risen, replaced by shamefaced contrition.

"Forgive me, your Highness."

Éomer shook his head. "Nay, 'tis my fault for being so curt. Please come inside." The King invited the elves into the private space of his commodious yet somewhat austere study so they could talk. Offer of refreshment was turned down by both elves. Éomer himself only took a sip of water before he continued.

"The mission was at my behest to begin with. Legolas, with his hand-picked warriors, had volunteered to accompany my lieutenant and his men on their way to fortify the western borders. People of towns and settlements that lie too near to the still hostile border with the Dunlendings are too ill at ease to leave their home and attend the celebration.

Legolas believed that by accompanying the king's emissary, sent to convince these people that their homes would be protected, he would bring a sense of wonder and curiosity to the reluctant civilians who have never seen elves before in their lives and encourage them to venture forth to honor the king's invitation. And for those who decide to make the journey to Edoras, the elves would provide escort service to bring them safely to the city.

I balked at the idea at first, saying that we needn't go that far. He is an honored guest who should be enjoying his time off instead of taking on a workload for his host. I simply could not allow that.

But Legolas..." Éomer paused, then his face took on the familiar expression one often would put on when they've had too many dealings with Legolas and ended up losing to his wit and charm most of the time. "He oft gets his way when he really puts his mind and effort to it, doesn't he? In truth, I do think his idea is not without merit. The Solstice Festival may not seem overly important compared to the call for war, but still, I wish for the people of Rohan to come together under happier cause. To have this festive gathering spread cheer and lift morale for years to come. Even I was contemplating on going myself had the situation made room for such a decision."

Éomer looked like he hadn't had a good sleep in a while. Everyone knew that the king had the largest workload of all.

The next words to come out of Glorfindel's mouth threw both Gildor and Éomer for a loop.

"Then please allow me to ride out and join their mission, your Highness. I have a matter of great importance and pressing nature to convey to the prince. I promise I would be an asset, not a hindrance."

Utterly surprised, Gildor momentarily lost his cool and swatted his friend's arm before he could stop himself.

"Nay, Glorfindel! What has gotten into you? You cannot leave!"

"Why not?" The ancient elf sounded like a sulking elfling being told to stay at home when he was about to go out.

"Has your old mind grown senile? Have you completely forgotten the _game plan_? The thing we all have planned out for the main event? Are you about to dump your share of work onto your comrades?"

Gildor caught himself and realized perhaps he had said too much when Éomer began to look at them suspiciously. Even as the gears of Glorfindel's mind turned and Gildor's words suddenly clicked in his memory, Gildor had to take action before Éomer developed the presence of mind to interrogate them.

"Forgive us, my friend, for taking up your time with our overly dramatic concerns. I'm sure Lord Glorfindel is willing to wait for Prince Legolas' return in a couple of days, considering we still have many things to prepare for the Mettarë Vigil and Yestarë Feast. We wouldn't want to let down our host and the good people who have come all the way to spend the turning of year with us."

Gildor smoothly excused them and all but tugged his baffled friend out of the room and away to a safer place to talk. They didn't stop walking until they reached the more secluded area of the courtyard. During their short walk, Glorfindel's mind tried to reconcile the fact that he had obligations that would deter him from going after Legolas and how to bypass this problem. Surely, he could be allowed to be selfish occasionally.

Gildor seemed to know where Glorfindel's thoughts were heading, for he drew up his most challenging posture of opposition and stern glare to whatever attempt Glorfindel might make just so he could bail out and disappear.

"You knew about the _game plan_?" Glorfindel began lamely.

"Of course I do! Elrond wrote to me. That's why I'm here."

"I swear I would return before anyone realizes I'm missing."

"The answer is still no."

"But... I really need to speak with Legolas!"

"And I'm not stopping you! Can't it wait until he gets back? Legolas will take part in _the game_ , after all. Would you rather _the game_ got cancelled due to our failure to set up the arena on time? Would you rather face Legolas' disappointment?"

Glorfindel looked close to wailing. "You don't understand, Gildor."

How many nights have you spent writhing in sleepless agony over your unfulfilled love? How many more must he endure? Glorfindel had wanted to ask his friend these questions, but in the end, he did not.

He just said, "Fine. I will wait."


	4. Chapter 4

Glorfindel didn't know who among the Powers he'd offended to reap this torture, but he earnestly hoped it would end soon. Three excruciating days had passed, going on a fourth now. Legolas still hadn't returned. Glorfindel was close to his breaking point. It was only a matter of time before he stopped caring about anything else and started using raw force to get what he wanted.

"Need I remind you that we are the guests here? Can't you at least behave a little more civilly?" chastised Gildor as he approached the scowling elf. They were at the festival grounds. Glorfindel had just snubbed a group of coquettish female humans who had tried to pass him a posy of mistletoe, a symbol of invitation for a more intimate socializing. And quite gruffly, too.

"Get me Legolas, I'll give you civil."

"What are you? Thirty?" scoffed Gildor. 

"I should just tie you up and throw you to Haldir so I can have my peace. Begone already." 

After taking one look at his dark mood, most elves and perceptive men would wisely give Glorfindel a wide berth. Not Gildor, though. He seemed to place much faith in his own immunity as an old friend, to be exempt from any harsh treatment or the threat of bodily harm.

How Glorfindel would love to disabuse him of that notion.

Gildor opened his mouth, ready to trade barbs and insults, but something behind Glorfindel's back caught his attention. Glorfindel turned around to see what was the big deal that had silenced Gildor's caustic tongue. He saw Elrond, who had blended in with the background so far, being approached by a frantic-looking elf soldier.

"Lord Elrond, you need to come with me. Lord Legolas has been injured."

Fate, it seemed, was a cruel mistress who liked to toy with Glorfindel's sanity.

o~o~o~o~o~o

"What now, Volfelm?"

Volfelm was an old, seasoned horsemaster in charge of overseeing equine-related affairs and the continued upbringing and training of Rohan's equine brigades. He had been serving the royal family since Theoden's reign.

"'Tis the Mearas, my Lord."

"What about them?" Éomer had a sinking feeling. With all the deluge of strangers and their bustling energy, not to mention a host of the guests' horses sharing quarters with them, the horses must be feeling the effect. Rohan horses could be prideful creatures, but pure-blooded Mearas were especially so, and they had quite a number of them.

"They've been showing signs of discontent ever since you issued the order to give our largest first-class stall to King Thranduil's elk－"

Éomer couldn't believe his ears. The horses accused him of favoritism? Had they seen the size of those widow making antlers? If anything, he only meant to save them from accidentally getting poked blind. 

"－and at the way the elk's needs are met more exclusively than theirs. You made sure the stable keepers routinely check on the animal."

Well, diplomatically speaking, the elk was also a visiting dignitary. An official guest in his realm. Éomer was only doing his job, making sure his guests were accorded the unstinting hospitality of his household.

"Even you, my Lord have been seen personally checking on the elk at least once a day."

That was just him being paranoid. ‘Tis not that Éomer didn't trust his men, but they were horsemasters, not elkmasters. They lacked experience dealing with elk. He just didn't want the elk to fall sick while under his staff's care. That would be a political disaster! Thranduil clearly wasn't the type that would tolerate a lesser replacement mount. In the pure interest of maintaining good relations, he was willing to go out of his way to make sure everything was as it should be and measures could be taken before any issue developed into something serious. So he was always looking out for symptoms or signs of discomfort from the elk, no matter how small and negligible.

"The last straw, my Lord, was when the horses in the neighboring stalls caught you sneaking an apple for the elk."

"..."

"They think you're trying to befriend the elk, my Lord." 

"......"

Éomer tried to school his features to look as cool as a cucumber. "We need to end this nonsense, because that's what this is all about. Just a foolish misunderstanding. The elk is just an elk. My actions were only driven by a horselord's curiosity. Nothing more."

"Of course, my Lord. That's what I thought, too. Your love and loyalty ever belong to our land and the inhabitants. No foreign animal, not even one as majestic-looking and stalwart and possessing impressive build as an enchanted elk can sway your heart. I even defended your honor against the doubters, my Lord. 'Tis preposterous to think that my Lord might secretly wish to ride the elk." 

Éomer couldn't withstand the beam of pure trust in his retainer's eyes and had to look away. He refused to closely examine the truth in his heart, either. Some things were better left buried as secrets between him and Eru Ilúvatar. Volfelm continued his report unaware.

"Yet unfortunately, the Mearas' anger and jealousy are easy to rouse and difficult to placate, my Lord. In our lax guard due to the influx of animals staying as guests, the Mearas somehow convinced other horses to stage a mutiny."

"What?!"

Volfelm looked positively mortified in front of his king and rushed to finish the report like tearing wax from a hairy leg. "They have seized our fully-stocked main barn and grain storage building and proceeded to blockade access from outside, my Lord." 

Éomer pressed a palm to his eyes and pulled a deep, deep breath. Truth be told, he would've been absolutely livid had this kind of silly farce been carried out by humans. But horses... horses were not just beasts of burden or mounts of war. Horses were the Rohirrim’s best friends. To be a Rohirrim was to have the bond of Man and horse ingrained since birth.

When your best friend was angry with you, you'd want to make peace. At all costs.

"What can be done about it? Please tell me you've got a plan."

The old horsemaster smiled with optimism, as if he had known the solution all along. "Well... The leader of the insurgence is Windclout, my Lord. As you know, he has always had a soft spot for you."

After a lengthy silence in which they just stared at each other, Éomer finally stood up with a resigned look. "Fine. I think I know what to do."

o~o~o~o~o~o

Loud banging echoed from inside the barn, the enormous wooden doors shuddered with every thump of raised hooves against the doughty portal. Rohan men were cringing outside, some of them tried to reason with the four-legged hay-chomping mutineers, yelling out their plaintive supplication. More thumping answered them.

Walking right into this rather embarrassing commotion, while toting a basket of choice apples in one arm, the King of the Mark gestured for his men to stand down and give him some space. All the soldiers leapt to obey their King immediately, herding the crowd of servants, horsekeepers, even nosy civilians away from the vicinity of the barn's shut entrance.

Éomer cleared his throat.

"I know you're in there! I seek to make amends! Let me in so we can talk!"

Instantaneous silence.

The men watched in awe from afar as the huge barricaded doors they had tried to force their way into without success swung ajar ever so slightly, just enough to let one man in.

Just before he stepped into the barn, Éomer spared a weary thought of how this had been a really long week.

o~o~o~o~o~o

He felt warm. He hadn't felt this warm in a really long time.

"Legolas, are you awake?"

He felt strong arms limiting his movement, his head tucked into the flesh cushion of hard pectorals. The musky scent he inhaled into his nose felt tranquil and familiar. This was a nice dream.

His muscled pillow just snorted. "I sure hope it's not."

Legolas blinked slowly, his fingers and toes twitched reflexively as his body slowly rediscovered his bearings. The lack of daylight told his stirring mind that it was night. The source of the ambient light in the room must be coming from the fireplace. He was glad that he didn't wake up in pitch dark and alone.

Not... alone...

With an audible gasp, he almost jerked off the bed when muscular limbs clamped down on his body more rigidly to prevent escape. Luckily, Glorfindel's deep voice shut down his fight or flight instinct.

"Legolas, it's just me."

"...Glorfindel? Valar, you scared me. I thought you were... What are you doing in my bed?" Legolas was breathing hard, trying to calm down his racing heart. The fact that it was Glorfindel and not some unknown stranger only improved the situation he found himself in by a smidgen.

"Making sure I won’t lose sight of you again." Glorfindel's tone carried several years' worth of exasperation. "You are the one elf who could kill me with his scarcity."

Still holding Legolas in a secure clinch, Glorfindel maneuvered their position a bit so they could talk eye to eye.

"Has nobody told you that I've been looking all over for you?"

Legolas' blank look answered Glorfindel's question.

"Never mind that then. Why have you not sought me out at all?"

This time, Legolas couldn't meet his eyes. He would've squirmed his way out of the bed if he could. Glorfindel knew Legolas so well he could tell just by looking at him that he was trying to extricate himself from the interrogation. And when he tried to surreptitiously nudge the clenching arms loose, Glorfindel growled threateningly, which made the smaller elf meekly stay put.

Legolas tried to stretch his spine to determine the cause of some stiffness he felt.

"My back kinda aches in places..."

Glorfindel pulled his injured lover closer, running his big hands carefully to palpate Legolas' back for signs of intolerable pain before settling to knead his stiff shoulders and neck. Hearing Legolas groan his appreciation almost sent him into mindless rutting mode. He'd already been half-hard since he walked into the room to find Legolas resting in his bed after Elrond had finished examining and treating his injuries. 

"That's what you usually get from being trampled by a surging crowd of humans," grumbled Glorfindel. Recalling the incident that had put Legolas in the state he was now in made him boil with rage.

Some rich but dumb merchant of Rohan had thought it a bright idea to heighten the hype of the festival celebration by generously doling out expensive gifts to the plebeians in the most ostentatious manner imaginable. He climbed the watch tower on the festival grounds with his servants and started throwing trinkets to be caught by the gathering mass below. He did it without consulting the royal guards first to provide security and crowd control. Added to the fact that apparently the gifts he was throwing were highly prized enough to inspire rapacious mob, all lending to a perfect recipe for disaster.

Fighting broke out among the vying participants that escalated quickly into a violent free-for-all. Women were screaming, children were crying. The resultant bedlam was fast growing in proportion. All the while, the asinine merchant still hadn't stopped throwing gifts while laughing gleefully, oblivious to the chaos he'd created.

All soldiers, elven and human, within shouting distance soon converged on the scene and launched themselves into riot handling protocol, the number one priority being to evacuate the women, children and aged to safety. Horns of alarm were sounded along the watch posts and more soldiers and guards from all over the field joined in subduing the unruly mob.

"What were you even doing on the field? You just arrived after a long ride from the West Border. Why couldn’t you just leave the crowd to Éomer's men?" Glorfindel had to tamp down the urge to lecture Legolas. He always prided himself on his affability. Leave all the trappings of a long-suffering, yapping elder to Elrond. That role never suited Glorfindel and his spirit of adventure.

That was, until Legolas.

His unfortunate habit of always walking straight into danger was a peril to Glorfindel's peace of mind.

Glorfindel didn't know how it came to pass, but somehow Legolas had become embroiled in the afternoon's slugfest barely moments after his return. His attendants hadn't even had the chance to refresh him. After dismounting from his horse, he was already gone. His loyal warriors all rushed after him, not a single one interested in following the prince's order to leave off their post and take a deserved rest. 

They arrived right in the thick of the riot to find the situation spiralling out of control, but not for long. Legolas' high rank and esteemed reputation allowed him to take charge and lead a more organized, effective counteraction that hopefully minimized any possible casualties.

All was going well until, out of nowhere, a little girl was seen chasing her spooked kitten, right into the center of the wild, fist-swinging, gut-kicking havoc. Legolas' body had moved on its own even before his mind could form a rational thought.

He caught the crying girl and carried her to safety before he dove right back in to save the kitten from getting trampled.

He was the one who ended up getting trampled, quite thoroughly.

And Glorfindel was the one who ended up losing his mind.

"Is... is the kitten safe? And the little girl?" asked Legolas.

This confounded sweetheart of his didn't feel sorry at all, did he? Glorfindel was sorely tempted to sink his teeth into Legolas' delectable rump and latch on until he promised to be more attentive to his own self-preservation for Glorfindel's sake.

"Both of the little ones were unharmed, thanks to you," Glorfindel answered him.

The relieved joy radiating from that sweet, smiling face was a potent reminder of Glorfindel's greatest weakness. Hereafter he would just have to live with the constant worry of his love getting hurt.

"Legolas... Have you been avoiding me?" Glorfindel asked, eyes softened by sadness and befuddlement.

"No!" Legolas was immediately assailed by guilt. He didn't want Glorfindel to think it was in any way his fault. No, it was entirely Legolas' own cowardice that had colored his judgement and dragged them into this misunderstanding. Legolas owed him an explanation. He couldn't run anymore, just as surely as he couldn't bear to see Glorfindel's sad eyes.

"Perhaps... I may have been a little reluctant to confront you..." Legolas focused really hard to quell the embarrassing tremor in his voice. "You were absent at Aragorn and Arwen's wedding. I thought you... had not wanted to see me... Or maybe because you didn't want to hurt me with your answer..."

"Nay, you're wrong!" Glorfindel felt like walloping himself for being such a witless fool. He understood everything now. He should have figured it out sooner, should have done something to prevent any kind of doubt from taking hold of Legolas' clueless heart. He should have not waited so long to make his move.

"I was ready to leave even before Elrond had finished packing for the journey. I was dying to see you again!" Glorfindel tightened his hold on the small of Legolas' back, willing him to believe his words. "I blame your father."

"Adar?" Legolas looked surprised and confused. What did his father have to do with this?

"Before I had the chance to go, a messenger bearing an important missive from your father arrived with inopportune timing. It was addressed specifically to me. He wrote that if I truly desired his blessing as your father in our bonding ceremony, then I had better bring an army to come to Mirkwood's aid immediately, for it was direly needed."

"He had me at 'bonding ceremony'," Glorfindel smiled ruefully. "I simply could not turn down his demand."

"Why did nobody tell me about this?" Legolas looked down and pouted, only now realizing what an irrational, insecure, soppy sap he had been acting for the past few years. "I need to have a serious talk with my father later. I resent being used as leverage on you."

Legolas fixed his eyes again on the handsome face that always pervaded his dreams and spoke as if he was quietly musing to himself, his hesitant fingers raised to almost touch Glorfindel's lips. "I know you love me. It's just... I'm never sure whether you love me as a brother, a pupil or... anything other than just a friend..."

Glorfindel captured those fingers and brought them to his loving lips. "I love you, my Greenleaf. Until the world shall be broken and remade, even until the vast unknown future in the Second Music. I will walk with you in that new world, never stop loving you."

Legolas clearly hadn't expected to receive such a powerful pledge. It almost sounded like a bonding oath. What was he supposed to say to something as profound as that? His jumbled thoughts fell over one another as his mind tried to come up with an appropriate response, although it wouldn't really matter because he was sure his heart would expire from extreme exhilaration first.

"I-I love you, my valiant Glorfindel. Though I may be flawed and probably not what you hope for in a mate, I will strive to become the one you －"

Legolas never got the chance to finish his words, for Glorfindel finally couldn't take it anymore, couldn't resist the siren call of trusting eyes and pliant body that had maddeningly rubbed against him without conscious intent. His powerful frame covered the prince's body even as his eager lips did the same, and his tongue did a remarkable job expelling Legolas' power of speech. There would be time for more talking later.

Right now, he had a delayed answer to give, and he intended to give one to its fullest.

o~o~o~o~o~o

Éomer gaped like a landed fish, he couldn't believe his eyes. For here he was, standing before the spectacular spread of a frozen ice field that hadn't even existed yesterday. How was this possible? There was no lake near Edoras, nor any large enough body of water to enable the ice field to materialize, unless they had dammed the Snowbourn River which clearly wasn't the case here.

And it wasn't just any typical ice field sprung from mother nature either. The visible oddities seemed unquestionably man-made, like how it had perfect rectangular shape with rounded edges and was surrounded by walls of compacted snow that rose about four feet from the ice, and how the ice surface bore some strange linear and circular markings. It all looked surreal.

Not man-made...

Elven magic. That was the only plausible explanation Éomer could think of.

Curious bystanders were steadily congregating around the arena, but none were allowed to approach beyond a certain distance. Human and elven guards formed many layers of security. They had been trained and briefed specifically in anticipation of this special event. Éomer was one of the few people who were allowed full unrestricted access to the rink.

"A good morning to you, Éomer!" hailed Gildor as he approached the flabbergasted king. Gripped in the elf's hand were some funny-looking shoes, Éomer noted. Flat metal blades that were curved on both ends were fixed to the bottom of the shoes. The whole footwear design was so outlandish the Man couldn't make head or tail of its use.

"These," Gildor raised the strange-looking shoes for Éomer's closer inspection. "...are called skates. They're made for maneuvering on that ice field."

Éomer nodded, not knowing what to say in response. They stood just a stone's throw away from the opening in the waist-high ice wall intended for entrance and exit onto the ice. Inside the fenced-in rink, Éomer saw a small group of elves and men gliding around effortlessly without pause, as if acclimatizing themselves to the field's condition.

Among them were Legolas and Faramir, much to Éomer's surprise. He had no idea his brother-in-law took part in this strange sport and had the needed skill to keep up with the elves. There were two more men besides Faramir. Éomer recognized them as the younger members of the Rangers of Ithilien who must have accompanied their former chief, Faramir. The way they skated was decidedly less graceful than the elves, but they still performed quite competently.

And of course, the twin Sons of Elrond always drew the eye wherever they went. At the other end of the arena, Éomer spotted a trio of fair-haired elves engaged in some sort of discussion. Two of them were standing on the ice, wearing the bladed shoes, the other one stood outside the enclosure, talking animatedly. Éomer recognized one of them as Haldir, the other two must be his brothers.

"What exactly is this, if I may ask?" Éomer made a sweeping gesture indicating the whole site.

"An ice hockey game, my friend," announced Gildor cheerfully. "You're looking at the surprise gift we have clandestinely set up for you and the Rohan people. Now you know why the three elven lords have made their journey to this place. They have all come for _the game_! 'Tis a huge deal for us who have waited for the revival of this winter sport since the Second Age."

"I'm honored, considering what happened yesterday." Éomer couldn't hide a grimace whenever he thought back to the humiliating disaster. "Not all people of Rohan deserve to be introduced to the finer aspects of elven culture. In the future, I would think twice before giving my own kingdom a vote of confidence in anything remotely cultural."

"You're being too harsh on yourself," protested Gildor.

Éomer diverted the topic. "That should not matter. At the very least, today we shall benefit from auspicious circumstances." Every miscreant that had been apprehended by the guards yesterday would be enjoying the hospitality of Meduseld's prison cells for a while, including the pudgy merchant with dung for brains. It might not prove to be educational, but it would certainly imprint through any thick skull how much Éomer did not tolerate nitwits among his subjects.

Gildor let Éomer move on to other more pleasant topics with an understanding smile. He answered more questions pertaining to the game with relish as well as guided Éomer to the reserved seating for sovereigns. The special area was elevated from the ground on an ice platform, -again Éomer wondered how the elves managed to construct such a peculiarity- strategically positioned to have a full, balanced view of the whole arena.

Beyond the special area, rows of tiered seating that got higher the farther away from the rink were lined with plain stools that were embedded into the ice floor. In the special area only, more comfortable chairs and small tables laden with various refreshments were provided to the guests.

Elrond, Erestor, Thranduil and Celeborn were already snug in their fur-draped seats when Éomer joined them in the special area. They paused their lively chat to greet their host. Gildor soon left them in order to prepare himself for the game.

Éomer noticed there was another twin platform of similar structure set-up right across the other side of arena, on the same eye level as the first one. In that special area, he could see Gimli and the hobbits helping themselves to probably their fifth breakfast. They all lifted their tankards of hot mead to him with barely contained excitement. Éomer smiled and lifted his tankard in return.

As Éomer waited for a servant to pour him another drink, he listened to the chatter around him. The way these ancient elf lords argued and trash-talked their opponent teams amused him to no end. And when they not so subtly tried to rope him into placing bets for their home teams, Éomer was starting to really look forward to the game.

o~o~o~o~o~o

"Do not be too hard on him.” Glorfindel said to one of his team members, the only one present at the moment, Elladan. Elrohir was still fooling around on the ice, launching a surprise attack on Legolas and Orophin in the form of snowball projectiles. It did not end well when both targets retaliated by ganging up on him. Glorfindel sighed, they were supposed to huddle up for a strategy meeting before the game.

"Why, coach? Because you've been too hard on him all night long?" teased the older twin. They both knew who Glorfindel spoke of.

"Because he just got trampled yesterday." Glorfindel tried to look serious but couldn't hold the facade for long. The closest words that could describe his present mood were _glowing satisfaction_. "And that, too."

"What is this traitorous talk that I'm hearing right now? Are you trying to let the enemy team win, Glorfindel?" Gildor's reproachful voice and timely arrival made both heads turn. They were down to minutes before the match began. The visitor seats were almost filled to maximum capacity.

Glorfindel's eyes twinkled with humor when he saw Haldir appear behind Gildor like a summoned apparition, making him jump and blush quite noticeably.

"Do not worry about the diminished capacity of one of our team members. I can assure you the disadvantage is equal on both sides." Haldir flashed the opponent team one of his insufferable smirks. Gildor wanted to bury his head in the snow to stop it from overheating, especially after Haldir bent down to whisper in his ear. "Remember what you promised me if you lose."

Glorfindel commented innocently after Haldir left. "I see that Haldir has finally managed to catch you. Congratulations."

"The disadvantage is equal now," Elladan repeated slowly with a burgeoning grin. "Don't worry, Gildor. I'll be sure to pass the information to Elrohir. Leave it to us to cover your _weak rear guard_."

Glorfindel gave Elladan a high five for a well-executed pun.

"Don't you dare!" hissed Gildor. Too bad Elladan had quickly made his escape onto the rink before Gildor could curb him. He turned to a snickering Glorfindel instead.

"Get your head in the game, coach! If we lose, I'd be happy to name all your lovers since your time in Gondolin until the Third Age for Legolas."

With that parting threat, Gildor skated away into the arena, leaving Glorfindel's agitated shouts behind unheeded.

o~o~o~o~o~o

Loud cheers erupted from the audience when Lord Elrond had finished giving his opening speech and officially announced the start of the game. Next came the introduction of the contending team members by the master of ceremonies. The first match was between the joined forces of Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlórien and the Rangers of Ithilien versus Rivendell, the Grey Havens and the Rangers of the North.

At the mention of the last appearing team members, Éomer choked on the mead he was leisurely sipping.

Into the rink stepped none other than the King of Gondor, staunchly followed by two of his men who were also wearing the skates, a definite sign that they were part of the team who would compete in the sport.

That blasted Ranger! Éomer rose from his seat and sputtered inelegantly. He really did sneak into his kingdom and elude capture. Éomer would have been impressed if he were not so close to forgetting his position and charging onto the rink just so he could throttle the Man. 

Aragorn even had the gall to wave at Éomer, all big smiles and not a shred of regret or responsibility.

That snapped Éomer's patience, restraint and decorum got tossed along with his cup. Éomer stood tall and shouted with full gusto, already getting into the spirit of the testosterone war that usually went hand in hand with any exhilarating sports match.

"Take him down, Legolas! Beat Gondor!"

Grinning mischievously, Legolas twirled his hockey stick like he would a sword or one of his white daggers in salute of the King of Rohan's command. "Aye, your Highness! Gondor shall fall before the day ends."

Aragorn chuckled darkly in response, a gleam of goading challenge in his squinted eyes.

"We shall see about that, my friend."

A coin toss and a shrill whistle later, the game was on. 


End file.
